Every morning came too early for Ed. When the alarm rang on his forearm, and in the bone behind his left ear, he was sure it was keeping the wrong time. Which was patently impossible, what with the nature of the Interwoven Connectivity SPiral that linked the data centers of the Northern Hemisphere.

Every day, for the last forty-six years, mornings kept sneaking up on Edward Peter Grant to pull the meanest of tricks anyone could on an honest working man; it made him go to work.

The small apartment on Boulevard had a splendid view of the old Daughters’ of the Confederacy building from the windows of the minute third floor balcony of his apartment, and each morning as he took his toast and coffee to the balcony to watch as the street below his little dwelling came to life. In these winter months Ed had to content himself with sitting on the couch near the balcony doors to do his watching while ruminating buttered toast and sipping the gritty, dark coffee grounds he had poured directly into hot water. The view wasn’t all that spectacular, not bad mind you; just not great. It looked more gray today than usual, in point of fact.

Ed felt he needed the extra time this morning to get himself “up to speed.” He didn’t want to put the news up on the Crystal set on the wall across from where he was sitting, so he just played the latest feed from the Inset on his left palm.

Mornings always came too early.

If he looked to the left he could see some other impressive buildings. Buildings like the Richmond Art Museum, to which he had never been though he walked by it every day on the way into work. A fine institution, he had always thought, just not a place one would go to find the “Eds” of the world. He was sure some guys named Ed had been there, the odds were too good for it to have never happened, but to be a real “Ed” in his book, you had to not only never have gone into the museum, but an Ed had to have never even wanted to.

Rinsed off, dressed, and out the door with this PB’nJ in a lovely brown canvas sack that was so stylishly retro, it honestly just looked old.

No one much spoke to Ed on his way to work, ambling down the street each morning, and he didn’t feel the lack, either. Married, fatherhood, divorced, and then on to single bitter old-

manhood, as his ex had put it some years back. He never knew what he was supposed to

do after fulfilling the married and fatherhood parts of his life; no one had given him any

sign of what he was to do then.

His wife was no longer his, his kids were strangers, moved off and away and now married themselves and Ed felt he honestly had nothing more to do with himself.

A much younger Ed had thought that by this point in his languidly flailing life he would have killed himself if not for the hot, itchy, dark parts of his soul that wondered if the priests had it right that suicide was indeed a mortal sin.

And niggling little idea at the back of his darkest, saddest thoughts; that single idea that Hell did actually exist gnawed at those tender, mushy moist bits of his mind. And they gnawed there quite often.

Turning right and crossing the Boulevard at Cary Street, he was almost there.

Nine hours a day spent at Elgin’s jewelry shop working on wedding bands and setting

ugly stones in uninspiring rings. It was a living; it gave him at least nine of his waking hours every day to not think about how much space in the world he was taking up.

Some time in the past he had counted how many steps it took him to get to

work. How many minutes it took Ed to make that walk, on average. How long his lanky stride was, and how often he blinked, took a breath, and even how many windows he walked past.

Anything to occupy his mind, anything at all would do, and, a time or five, had done.

Have to keep the ole nugget rollin’, Eddy, or the men would come to take you away, and right quick!

His father’s words came back at him as Ed stood if front of the music store and

made to cross to the south side of the street where he could see his boss in his office

window.

Elgin was talking to some people in his private office. The dwarf he knew,

Alvin had worked for Stark as his property manager for the last few years. He even ran

errands for Elgin when he needed him to. Not a bad little guy, but Ed was just socially

awkward enough to inadvertently insult the ginger runt at odd moments. His own fault, he knew

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

it; he just couldn’t help himself. For a little person, Alvin had huge hands, and big, scarred knuckles that made Ed think the guy did some very hard work with his hands at some point.

…creepy… he thought.

The other three he had no clue about. From across the street Ed could see that one

was a very big woman. TALL…women are “Tall,” not “Big,” damnitall…that’s part of

why I’m sleepin’ alone…talltalltall… dont call women “big” you fucking moron…The other two? Who knows? Tall, not big…she’s

Tall…

As Ed watched, David walked up the sidewalk from the direction of the Indian

place. “Always on time” he muttered to himself. He would have just as happily muttered

the same thing to anyone who might happen to be standing near, but like most moments

in Ed’s life, this one was spent alone, and mostly in his own head.

Ass kissing pansy…He smirked ruefully as he stood in front of the old music store

across from Elgin’s office, watching the young man with dark curly hair approach the

door to the shop and ring the bell. Ed didn’t actually hate David; truth be known, he

didn’t really hate anyone. It was the fact that humanity aside; he felt he had absolutely

nothing in common with most people on the planet. And David Starov least amongst

them. He was young, he was handsome in a petit-pretty-man-Mediterranean- Jewish-kind-of-way, the boy was always smiling about something and the biggest insult of all…David Starov was always reminding Ed of how miserable and lonely Ed himself really was in his own life.

And what was worse, the guy had some other job at the University. He was a teacher of some kind. A professor? Ed wasn't quite sure, but he knew the guy only worked here with him until eleven every morning, before he left for his other "important" gig.

David was as far to the opposing field as one could travel from Ed Grant without

leaving the masculine gender. Happy, bright eyed, good looking, generally well dressed,

athletic, and always helpful; it made Ed sick just listing his attributes. Ed thought it was

tantamount to pouring a bottle of Caro down his own throat. Sickly sweet, and cloying.

With a sigh he trotted across the street to catch the door before it closed. While it

rankled his petty little cringing soul that someone might possibly think the two men

walking in together might have “Walked In” together, he would put up with the imagined

insult to save having to ring the bell himself again so soon after David had done so.

As he walked in past Celia who had answered the door, Ed grunted out a

“…mornin’…” to the lovely woman. While not really liking anyone, he approved of

Celia. She must have been around his age, was graceful in the way she moved about the

office like a swan, and she was a handsome woman with that proud nose and stunning

array of silver hair flowing about her dusky skin and willowy frame. Almost always smiling, she often made him think how different his life could have been if he had just met her before Ed had met his ex.

Yeah…It all might be worse, asshole!

But, she also signed his paychecks; he opted long ago not to get on her bad side, just on general principles.

Celia smiled at him as he shambled past, saying “Good morning” and stressing

the “good” just as she did every day; in case he hadn’t known what kind of mornings

were to be had around here.

Through the elegant glass and bronze door into the storefront, Ed made the

winding turn around to the area behind the jewelry cases as he started to shrug off his

jacket and make his way back through to the jewelers’ studio most customers would be shocked

to see if they ever had the chance.

The smells of ground and burnt rouge, mild acids, Violent-Green cleaning

solution, and, curiously enough to Ed, the sense of home assaulted his nostrils just as they did every morning. By ten he wouldn’t be able to pick them out, but every morning the familiar and welcoming scents hit his nose fresh and new and comforting as old socks right from the dryer.

Hanging his coat on the chair at his bench, he saw from the corner of his eye that

David was taking a fancy black bundled jump rope from his back pockets as he sat at his

bench. He did this same thing every day, and Ed never saw how the little fruit could call

himself a man while walking around with a jump rope always tucked away in his back

pocket. Sure, he thought, David is in pretty good shape; but a jump rope?

Years ago in a rare conversation with the younger man, Ed had asked him why he

carried such a thing all the time; David had just smiled at Ed and said simply “protection…” Not wanting to be the butt of the boy’s joke, Ed let the matter drop, never to bring it up again. He knew the moment he did would be when the little freak would spring the joke on him. Knowing in his sour old heart that David only carried it so that one day Ed would ask, and everyone in the studio would laugh as the gag was finally sprung.

The boss and his guests walked into the studio from his office, their chatter

cutting off as the tallest woman he ever saw starred, pole-axed, around her at the studio.

Her greenish eyes bulged at the sight of the large room lined with jewelers’ benches and the

random bits of chaff that Elgin had lying about. Not something the average person sees every day, but not the spectacle she obviously thought it might have been.

Dippy broad, not like it’s as big as a gym, or some great, operatic mountain hall…